by Mary Kruger
“Could be.” He nodded. “I think we should find out.”
“How?”
“You mentioned the Internet last night. Where’s your computer?”
“In the kitchen.”
He walked into the kitchen, and she followed. “Why don’t you log on?”
“Okay,” she said doubtfully, sat in the chair he held out for her, and clicked on the icon for her online service. “I know this was my idea, but it seems strange.”
“What does?”
“The idea of someone stealing my designs. It’s not as if I’m a big-name designer. I could have been, but I’m not.”
“Seems to me you could still be,” he said as he drew a chair over.
“Maybe. Darn it.” She pounded her fist on the edge of the computer table. “Ow. It makes me so mad. Stealing what I’ve worked on—when is it going to end?”
“What?”
“Everyone’s life has been turned upside down. When is it going to end?”
“I’d like to know that myself.”
“Maybe Laura’s right,” she said. “Maybe I am the target.”
“Maybe.” He leaned forward again as the computer linked up with the Internet. Ari was deeply aware of his nearness. Once again, Ted’s words about Josh and his interest in her returned, making her feel just the slightest bit uncomfortable with him.
“What should I look for?” she asked, edging away a little.
“Try searching for your name.”
“I told you. I already have,” she said, but obediently she entered her name into the search engine. The results were exactly as she’d predicted: genealogical, along with several references to her pattern in Vogue Knitting. She scrolled through several screens, but nothing new came up. At last, Josh had to admit defeat. “Now what?” she asked.
“Try a pattern. What was the one Edith Perry had?”
“The New Icelandic.” She typed it in. “Not very original, I know, but it fit. Yikes.” She stared at the thousands of results the search produced. “We’ll never get through all those.”
Josh leaned over her shoulder, closer than she’d expected. She glanced up at him. Hmmmm…“Try another one,” he said.
“Okay. Country Sheep. Yikes,” she said again. “Maybe if I add my own name—there. Still too many, but…”
“‘Sheep breeding,’” Josh muttered as he read the screen. “‘Black Sheep.’ Good name for a rock group. ‘Big Sky Country’?”
“Montana.”
“I know that.”
“I think they had range wars there, sheep farmers against cattle ranchers. I’m not sure. Oh, look, there’s that darn Vogue article again.” She clicked on the link, and this time the sweater she’d designed for the magazine was displayed. Ari smiled at the picture of her first major success. It was a deceptively simple cable sweater, but she had made so many variations in the cables that it almost looked like a fisherman sweater. Since she’d made it with white cotton yarn, though, and included cables in the neck ribbing, it retained its classic appearance. “I always liked that one,” she went on as she scrolled down the page. “It’s nice-looking, but easy.”
“If you say so. What’s that link at the bottom?”
“‘More patterns like this,’” she read. “Probably goes back to the Vogue patterns.”
“Give it a try.”
“Okay,” she said, and clicked on the link. A moment later another picture came up. The background was of multiple pastel-colored balls of yarn, while to the side was a border made up of similar, but brighter, yarn. There was no name given for the designer of the site. There were, however, small pictures of sweaters, bright and colorful, muted and classic. “Good God!”
“What?”
“Those are my designs.”
Josh leaned still closer, making her pull away a little. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.” She pointed to one photograph, then another, and yet another. “All of them. Look.” They watched as a picture of the oatmeal-colored sweater with autumn-colored leaves splashed across it, which Ari wore in the picture on her website, appeared. “‘Autumn Leaves,’” she read. “That’s not my name for it.”
“What is?”
“‘October.’ Josh?” She looked up at him. “Someone is stealing my patterns.”
Josh at last sat down, after pulling his chair closer to hers. “More than that. Whoever did it hacked into the Vogue Knitting site.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Yes. It’s illegal,” he said grimly.
“So is theft.”
“Yes.” He frowned. “Someone who knows how to use a computer did this. Who do you know who could?”
“Aren’t hackers usually teenage boys?”
“Ari, would a boy be interested in sweater patterns?”
“You never know.”
“Can you think of anyone?”
“I don’t know. I hate the idea that someone I know could do this to me.” She frowned. “Kaitlyn, I guess. She designed the page for the shop. Summer, too. She had to learn web page design for school.”
“Maybe they have boyfriends who can hack into a machine.”
“I just can’t see it.” She frowned again. “Laura,” she said reluctantly.
“Laura?”
“Yes. Diane, too.”
“I wonder if Herb Perry knows how.”
She stared at him. “He could. The senior center has classes on Internet use all the time.”
“Well, that narrows it down,” he said dryly.
“Why would anybody do this?”
“Money.”
Kaitlyn, she thought again. Summer. They were both students with considerable computer experience, and they both could use the money. So, she admitted reluctantly, could Diane. She dismissed Laura out of hand. Her aunt wouldn’t do this to her. “She’s not charging too much for the patterns. Why do we always say ‘she’?” she added.
“Because it’s probably a female. Let’s try buying one.”
“Whoever it was will know it’s me.”
“We’ll get some information, though,” he said. “One order for ‘Autumn Leaves.’ Name, address—I’ll make up a credit card number—hey. Look at that.”
“What?”
“An address to send a check to.”
She leaned forward again. “A post office box in Boston?”
“Probably the main branch. A good anonymous place.”
“Couldn’t you stake it out? The police, I mean.”
“I don’t know.” He sat back. “This is mail fraud.”
“Mail fraud!” She stared at him. “That means the feds, doesn’t it?”
He grinned at her suddenly. “Ari, you read too many mysteries.”
“Why?”
“Stakeouts, feds—you talk like a cop.”
“But it does involve the feds, doesn’t it? I mean, the post office is federal.”
“Postal inspectors handle that.” He stared at the screen. “Damn it.”
“What?”
“Internet crime goes across state lines. Do you have any idea what it’s like when the Fibbies—”
“The what?”
“FBI. Do you know what it’s like when they get involved?”
“They take over?”
“Bingo.”
“But they won’t care about a local murder, will they?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. If it’s connected with this, it could be considered a federal crime. The lawyers will fight over that.”
“If we find out who did it.”
“We will. Print out the page, will you? Damn,” he said again, as his pager went off. “Excuse me a minute.” He took out his cell phone and moved away.
“Of course,” she said, sitting back and immediately regretting the loss of the closeness that had grown between them in the last few minutes. Oh, grow up, Ari!
Josh came back as she was pulling the last of the pages from the printer. “I have to go.”
“I figured
.” She looked up. “Another knifing?”
He frowned. “No. No one really knows what.”
Ari rose quickly. “Something bad?”
“Don’t know. I’ll call you,” he said, grabbed the printout, and just like that was out the door.
Ari stared after him, and then turned to shut down the computer. She didn’t like the look on his face. Something was up, something serious. Something that affected her? The thought made her shudder. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.
The phone rang a few minutes later. “Are you all right?” the voice on the other end demanded without first greeting her.
“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Oh, thank God. I had my police scanner on. There’s been a mugging.”
“A mugging! In broad daylight?” Ari’s hand flew to her throat. “Who?”
“I don’t know. But you’re okay?”
“Yes. Oh, Laura, I’m sorry. You thought it was me?”
“I’ve been calling you for the last ten minutes and your line was busy.”
“Well, that should have told you something.”
“You could have been calling for help.”
“Well, I wasn’t. I was online.”
“Online? You?”
“Yes. Josh and I—”
Laura’s voice changed. “Interesting.”
“It wasn’t like that.” Ari sat down on her couch and propped her feet on the coffee table. “Wait till you hear what we just found out,” she said, and told her what she and Josh had discovered.
“So that’s it,” Laura said when she was done.
“Yes.”
“Hmm. I think we should order some.”
“Whoever it is will recognize our names,” Ari said, as she had to Josh.
“I wasn’t thinking of us. I know. Cousin Liz, in Sandwich.”
“Would she do it?”
“She’s a good sport. She reads mysteries, too, dear.”
Ari nearly groaned. Josh was right. All of them read too much. “Okay, then. Should I call her?”
“No, I’ll do it. It’s been a long time since we talked. What is the web address?”
“I’ll get it—”
“Wait. There’s my other line. Do you mind?”
“No, of course not,” Ari said, and waited, listening to the electric hum of the empty wire. After a few minutes, though, she hung up. Usually Laura returned right away, having told the second caller that she’d call back, but not this time. Something was up.
A few minutes later the phone rang again. “Ari.” This time Laura’s voice sounded strained. “Did you hear?”
“No, what?”
“I thought someone might have called you.”
“No. Why? What is it?”
“That was Ruth Taylor who called.”
“Oh? About last night?”
“Ari, get your mind off romance,” Laura said impatiently. “This is serious.”
Romance? Hardly, Ari thought. “What is it?”
“She said someone was killed.”
Ari sat up straight. “Who?” she demanded.
“Are you sitting down?”
“Yes, yes. Who is it?”
“Well, dear.” Laura took an audible breath. “It was Sarah Mailloux.”
seventeen
“NO!” ARI EXCLAIMED. “Laura, you don’t think—?”
“What?” Laura said.
“Oh, this is awful. It’s my fault.”
“How can it be?”
“What she told me about the pattern. It can’t be a coincidence.”
“Ari.” Laura’s voice was reproving. “I know it’s strange, but how can it be connected?”
“With all that’s been happening? It’s too coincidental.”
Laura was quiet for a moment. “I think you’re right. Someone must have had reason to want her dead. She was a threat to someone.”
“Whoever did that website?”
“Whoever killed Edith.”
“But what did Sarah do, besides know about that pattern? She doesn’t—didn’t—even live here anymore. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“You’re in denial, dear.”
Ari sighed. “I suppose I am. I just don’t want this to be happening.”
“So what are we going to do about it?”
“We? What do you mean?”
“Haven’t you been talking about it with Josh?”
“I don’t know why you think that, Laura.”
“Now, Ari. You’ve been seeing him a lot. Don’t tell me you haven’t been discussing Edith’s murder.”
“Laura, I—oh. There’s another call coming in. I’ll call you.” Hastily she switched calls. “Hello?”
“Have you heard?” Josh’s voice said.
“About Sarah? Yes. Is it official?”
“Yes. Her daughter identified her.”
“Oh, poor Leslie! I’ll have to call her,” she said, and paused. “Maybe not. It’s got to be connected, hasn’t it?”
“I’d like to tell you it’s not, but something’s going on.”
“How was she killed?” Ari asked, alerted by something in his voice. “It wasn’t a mugging, was it?”
“We don’t know yet.”
“In other words, you can’t tell me.”
“I’m not supposed to.”
“Why don’t you let me guess?
“Ari—”
“She was hit on the head, and that’s why it looks like a mugging.”
“Yes,” he said after a minute, reluctantly.
“With something like a cane.”
“Maybe.”
“You don’t know yet?”
“No.”
“Where was she killed?”
“Ari, I’m not supposed to be telling you anything.”
“Yes, but…”
“Okay.” He sighed. “In her daughter’s driveway, on the other side of her car from her house.”
“How could someone have done it in plain sight?” she asked. “I know it’s dreary out, but someone must have seen something.”
“No one we’ve found so far. The neighbors on one side were watching football, and the house on the other side is for sale.”
“And there are only woods across the street. Josh, whoever did this is pretty reckless.”
“Yeah. Look, Ari.” His voice was hushed. “I want you out of this. Now.”
“Hell, no.”
“For God’s sake, Ari. It’s looking as if she was killed for what she knew.”
“But what did she know?”
“If we knew that, we’d have the murderer.”
Ari felt a sudden chill as she wondered who Sarah had talked to this weekend. “But it’s so thin,” she protested.
“As I said, people have killed for less.”
“Less? When whoever it is charges so little for a pattern? And she has to pay for that site,” she continued. “I do for mine.”
“Paul’s been doing some checking.” His voice was low enough that she guessed there were people nearby. “Do you have any idea how much money websites like that can make?”
“No. How much?”
“Plenty, especially if she advertised.”
“How would she advertise?”
“On other knitting sites. She has advertising on her own, too.”
“I didn’t know that. So it works both ways?”
“Yes. There are a couple of other things. She keeps track of visitors. It runs in the thousands.”
She gasped. “That many? For how long?”
“Over a year. Just think. If only ten percent of the people buy, even at her prices, she’s making good money.”
“I had no idea.” She paused. “So she’d have a lot to lose if someone found her out.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you think Edith did?”
“No proof, but I’d bet she did. Paul’s having a field day with this, by the way. He’s never had the chance to do anything with Internet
crime.”
“I thought you couldn’t do anything about it.”
“No, not yet, but if it’s linked to murder, we’ve got the foundations for a case—wait.” The line went briefly dead, and then Josh came back. “Gotta go. There’s a meeting in the chief’s office.”
“Okay.”
“Butt out of it, Ari. I’m not kidding.”
“I know,” she said, and hung up.
Troubled, Ari drifted across to her drafting table, where a pastel patchwork sweater for spring was taking shape. Taking a marker, she bent over it, and then sat staring into space, absently twirling her hair. Josh had to be wrong, she thought. The murders had to be connected, but why to her? The website could be a McGuffin, a kind of red herring that Alfred Hitchcock had delighted in using. It seemed important, but in the end had nothing to do with the mystery. Still…
Ari’s gaze went to the computer, sitting silent across the room. With sudden decision she turned it on and then logged on to the Internet. Armed with the information she’d gotten from Josh, she quickly found the general knitting sites, the ones that taught knitting or offered simple patterns. Idly she clicked through, stopping occasionally to study a site more closely. Many sites had advertisements flashing at the top. On the current one was a yarn catalog; she’d also seen ads for craft stores and a big Internet bookstore. She was about to see what the yarn company had, when the ad changed. To her surprise, it was for the site that sold her pirated patterns. Curious, she clicked on the link and waited to see the site.
And it didn’t appear.
Ari stared at the screen, reading the error message that told her she’d gotten the address wrong, although she knew she hadn’t. Bringing up the Vogue Knitting site, she clicked on the link for her patterns there, and again waited.
And again, all she got was an error message.
She searched for her sweater patterns, as she had before, clicked on the link, and got the same result. It happened again when she keyed in the address for the site. She sat back, confused. The site simply wasn’t there.
More than a little alarmed, Ari logged off and called the police station. “Bouchard,” a distracted voice said.
“Just who I wanted to talk to,” Ari said, and identified herself.
“Me?” Paul said. “You sure? Josh is in a meeting.”
“I’m sure. What’s the web address for the site that’s selling my patterns?”
“Wait a minute.”